


my head is full of you

by la_victorienne



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-13
Updated: 2009-01-13
Packaged: 2018-10-16 00:54:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10560636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/la_victorienne/pseuds/la_victorienne
Summary: it is a commonly accepted truth that as soon as ianto takes his first sip of coffee, jack wants something else.





	

He feels the hand on the back of his neck right after his first sip of coffee and right before he clicks into the login screen, and he knows without a doubt that his coffee is going to go cold.

Sure enough, he turns around and Jack is behind him with a familiar look in his eyes, a dark and dangerous look that Ianto has come to associate with both heartbreak and arousal. Jack leans into the kiss with no little force, trapping Ianto in the ergonomic office chair with his incredibly present body; in return, Ianto puts both hands on Jack’s face, arresting him where he stands, forcing him to slow down. Jack in this state moves too quickly, barely even seeing Ianto where he is, and that’s something they’re both working to change. Even if it is wildly inappropriate office sex, there’s something deeper there.

Jack, to his credit, does slow down, though he pulls Ianto to standing and wraps his arms comfortably around his waist. They kiss languidly, warmly, slowly, hardly desperate or needy, but with every intention of carrying this to its furthest point – just at Ianto’s pace, not Jack’s. He manoeuvres Jack backwards until they’re under the beaded doorframe, the tacky strands cascading around them, all of his energy focused on their meeting. They lean there for what feels like hours, uncaring of any of the things that could interrupt them, and Ianto feels himself melting into the embrace like a schoolgirl.

When finally they part, retreating even further into the bowels of Ianto’s little tourist office, with its own elevator to the archives and the little coffeemaker Ianto keeps just in case the big one downstairs malfunctions. Jack presses him hard against the counter, fingers nimbly undoing buttons and mouth dragging over Ianto’s jaw, relishing the sensation of the day’s stubble against his lips, while Ianto fumbles with the fussy and restrictive belt and braces. The urgency is muted, dissolving into the lightest of touches of fingers to skin, more erotic in their absence than any others in their presence, and Ianto’s focus narrows considerably, limited to Jack’s mouth, hands, hips. Little explosions spark all over his body, building dangerously as Jack finds his way inside Ianto’s pants with a slip-slide-tug-jerk that has Ianto fairly keening with unintelligible pleasure. Jack pants into his neck as he returns the favour, and as they drape across each other, spent, Ianto thinks perhaps it was worth the cold coffee.


End file.
